The art of holding your breath...

Those who know me well won’t be surprised when I say that I am used to breathing under water. In fact I also have a licence to kil... hem... teach it, hence when I found myself face down in a pool completely zonked out and motionless like a dead body it just didn’t seem right. Yet it was out of my choice.

It’s been just about a week since our return from the neighbouring UAE where we spent 6 whole days training to maximise our breath hold under water and learn about the physiology of diving (even more than what I know already!).

Why? You may ask. That’s the same question I have been asking myself while fighting diaphragm contractions, psychological blockage and the mild fear of drowning by my own doing. The thing is I like a challenge and I wanted to see what it is like to push my body beyond my normal comfort zone. Yes it is a little bit daunting but I guess I am a bit of an adrenaline junkie… yet adrenaline is the last thing you’d want before or during a breath hold! It's almost a form of meditation.

I had been thinking about trying it for a while so, aware that there is no free diving teaching facility yet in Oman I made a few enquiries and less than a month later we headed to Abu Dhabi to train for the 2-star and 3-star AIDA free diving certification.

Results: I still have to conquer the 3-star performance requirements (nothing for the faint hearted) but I have climbed to my 2-star status. In practical terms this means that I have managed to hold my breath for 2’15 minutes (static), swim on one single breath for 40m back and forth in a pool (banging my head a couple of times in the process…idiot!) that’s called dynamic, one of the disciplines of free diving and push myself down to 16 metres and back up on a single breath fighting contractions, mind games and an incredibly high number of jelly fish of all sorts of shapes and sizes (I still have a couple of burns) in what is known as the constant weight discipline. All in the name of fun.

And fun it is. I was a bit sceptical when I researched about free diving before going on the course. It seems that there are a lot of people talking about these mystic experiences and it all sounded a bit arty farty to me. Many refer to free diving as a personal journey.

Whatever you take from it and however you look at it, it is a personal experience that is hard to explain.

For me it was a step into a rather unfamiliar domain, mentally and physically.

The only way to truly understand it is to try it. Personally, I like it!

Weekend or holiday?

Another weekend draws to a close. As I lay lazily on the lounger outside in the front yard waiting for the night to fall, wrapped in the soft sunset light another Friday comes to a close and I reflect on the last couple of days, spent at leisure in the perfect climate typical of this time of the year.
Every time I find myself lost in this little exercise of gratitude it is not hard to understand why I feel so lucky to be here.

Take this weekend: yesterday we got up at leisure and headed to one of the cafés on the beach road. From there you can sip your moka looking at the glittering sea while behind you flocks of birds get on with the hustle and bustle of their daily activities in the mangrove. We enjoyed a relaxing breakfast with a couple of friends while their children busied themselves creating havoc around the establishment. We left our friends and proceeded to the Yacht Club, jumped on our boat and headed to one of the most beautiful bays in the area. There was a gentle breeze and the sea was flat. Tere is no better way to enjoy the divine temperatures we are blessed with at this time of the year. We stayed until sunset and then we headed back wondering why we didn’t get ourselves organized to float overnight… next time.
Once finished with the boating chores (like cleaning the engines from the sea water) we parted with the boat and headed to a friend’s house for pancakes (Pancake Thursday, why not?) followed by a meal under the stars at a new fish restaurant we’ve discovered in the Qurm Area.

Today it was again a lazy morning; then in the spur of a moment “someone” had the brilliant idea to suggest a walk on the beach. OK let’s go to the beach. So we walked, we walked and walked for a total of 2 hours (about 4.7km!). By that time I was hungry and bothered so we decided we deserved a decent meal and ended up indulging in a buffet lunch at one of the 5 star establishments in town.
We then rolled to one of our favourite cafés by the beach, had a tea under the palm trees and watched the rest of the day unfold.

We drove back home as the sun was setting.

Next weekend we are off on a 3-day desert crossing adventure.

I am sure you’ll agree that it’s not hard to see why we like it here. Every weekend is a bit like a mini holiday!

Now it's the start of your weekend. What will you be up to in the next couple of days?

How a game of Petanque can affect your health

As you know we always keep ourselves busy with the strangest events and the most colonial pastimes.

As March approaches so does the annual International Boules tournament in which I took part last year with a few other Italian friends and to which we intend to participate again this year with a slightly modified team; still strictly Made in Italy. Following the disgraceful 2009 performance against the professional French (they come with measuring tape and all while we get merry between one boule and the other) we have unanimously decided that this year we are going to attempt some practice runs before the start of the event. Training is a suitable pretence to keep up another of our favourite colonial diversions such as sipping Pimm’s at dusk in this beautifully favourable winter climate.

Without realising it I have ended up with the title of captain of the team which apparently leaves me in charge of coordinating the games with the other teams and organizing the pre-tournament training. I try to make myself useful.

I know that the Intercontinental Muscat has a number of Boules fields (or whatever they are called) as that is where the tournament takes place every year. Today armed with very little faith I called the hotel in an attempt to reserve one of the pitches:

It all starts with a call to a common entry point for every hotel establishment: the front desk.

FD: OK ma'm; I'll transfer you to the food and beverage department

ME: no, no, not food and beverage I am talking about BOULES, the playing facility you have outside; in your grounds... (I am still hopeful)

FD: OK ma'm I'll transfer you to the beach fun club

ME: (I think) wow that sounds promising. I’m impressed.

BFC: (after I explain what I am after) ok ma'm I'll transfer you to the control tower

ME: "control tower'? (WTF now they are sending me to the airport! … never mind)

…

Control T: OK ma'm I'll transfer you to ... (I’ve lost interest)

Some guy: boules pitch ma'am, no I don't understand: football field? basket ball?

ME: No no, boules, the french game!

The guy: No ma'm that's khalas. No more. it was only for the French.

ME: No more? What do you mean? You removed the pitches? There were a few and there is a new tournament coming up, what happened to the fields?

The guy: no ma'am that was just for that period. When they finished playing the French TOOK THEM AWAY.

ME: ???? (WTF) How? What do you mean? They took the pitches away? (I try to imagine the French with shovels and pickaxe dismantling the grounds of the Intercon). They are sand pits!! (to myself: surely they haven’t destroyed the pits to rebuild them again for this year’s tournament or have they? This hopeless man obviously hasn’t got a clue what facility of the hotel he works for I am talking about! I'll have to go there!).

The call has gone exactly as I expected, nonetheless I am in defibrillation!!